


When Our Stars Collide

by Not_So_Normal_Shipper



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, High School, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rainbows, That's Not a Bad Thing, it's really gay, read and find out, there's a lot of staring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Normal_Shipper/pseuds/Not_So_Normal_Shipper
Summary: Abigale and Leona first meet in art class. The rest is history.





	When Our Stars Collide

I’m running, and for a second I’ve forgotten why…

Oh, yeah. I’m being chased. By what, you may ask.

Only the biggest jerk in the entirety of North America, David Keo.

As I run through the darkness his words play on repeat in my head.

“It’s okay.”

“It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Don’t make a scene.”

Tears are spilling from my eyes, dripping down my cheeks, I run faster and faster until I can’t run any farther.

Next thing I know, I’m in the middle of the street, head in my hands, sobbing, remembering the events that occured moments before.

One Year Later…

I can tell it's going to be a nice day by the way the sun dances through the crack in my curtains, landing gently on my face as I lie in bed, still tired.

Out of the corner of my eye, my alarm clock flashes, but makes no noise. Damn thing must be broken again.

I hit it hard and the little screen that tells me its 6:32 AM turns black.

“Damn it!” I say angrily under my breath. At least I’m not late for my first day of school. I always wake up at this time, regardless of a stupid alarm clock.

I pull my blankets up to my face, not quite covering my eyes, and roll out of bed (literally). I hit the ground with a thud.

Ow.

Lying on the floor in my underwear, blanket around me, I stare at the ceiling like an idiot. With a yawn, I curl up in a ball, then stretch out as far as possible.

My room is bright and cheerful, though my curtains are mostly closed, and the lights are off. Slipping off the blanket, I get up and walk to the other side of the room with one hand on the painted pink wall. The walls themselves are covered with many drawings that I’ve made throughout my life.

I reach my closet, and start searching for an outfit to wear.

I get stuck between two outfits; a tight tie-dye shirt, ripped jeans, and a black sweater versus a short black skirt with a red flower pattern, a black tank top, and a jean jacket. Both outfits are paired with small black work-boots.

Unable to make a decision, I take a picture of both, and post the photo on Instagram for multiple opinions.

Within a few moments, I’ve gotten over two thousand votes.The short skirt wins by a landslide.

Putting it on, I stand in front of my mirror and pull my waist-length mint-green hair back into a messy updo.

The mirror shows me my full body. Everything goes together perfectly.

I take a mirror selfie and post it on Instagram too.

Putting my phone down, I start to gather my school supplies. Two binders(two classes per binder), paper, calculator, pencil case, notebooks, and most important of all, my sketchbook. The entire time, my phone buzzes over and over. It’s quite annoying. I finally decide to check it. They’re all the likes and comments on the post I made. I load up Instagram and click on the post. The first thing I notice is the number of likes: 1,487. A lot, but still not the most I’ve ever gotten. Then I check the comments. It doesn’t give me a number, so I read through and count. There’s over 20 saying how pretty I am, 10 saying they wished they were me, 26 excited that I picked their vote, 3 saying I should have picked the other one, and 1 sad and lonely comment saying I’m stupid and look like a slut. There’s many angry comments replying to that person, but I add a comment saying they shouldn’t be rude, it’s just a stupid comment and I’m not letting it get to me, so they shouldn’t either.

Immediately I get about 18 apologies, and I’m satisfied.

I look back at myself in the mirror and smile.

I turn off my notifications. It’s probably for the best considering I have school in an hour. Don’t want to get in trouble on the first day.

A man’s voice calls from downstairs.

“Abby, are you up?”

I roll my eyes, “Yes Dad!”

Another man’s voice says so quietly, I almost can’t hear, “Oh honey, stop, it’s her first day. And you know she hates being called Abby.”

“Sorry Abigale!” The first voice calls again.

“It’s okay!” I’m too tired to focus on this conversation, but you have to answer when people talk to you. Especially people who have taken care of you your entire life. Anyways.

I walk over to the wooden desk sitting neatly in the opposite corner, and grab my backpack. The bag is white, with cat ears perched on top, pink fuzz sticking out of them. There’s eyes, a nose, and tiny whiskers sown on with black thread. All together, my backpack resembles my cat Oscar, who usually sleeps with me every night. He was nowhere to be found last night. I chose not to take it personally.

After placing everything I gathered into my bag, I head downstairs into the small hallway lined with family photos.

In the living room, my dads are sitting on the couch watching some old people show on TV. When they see me, they sit up, looking me up and down.

“You look great. They say in unison. I swear sometimes they’re like the same person, but I know it’s just that their love is so strong, it bonds them to one another.

They smile, and I smile back.

“Thank you.” I say, giving a little curtsy. We all laugh, and they go back to watching their show.

“30 minutes.” One dad calls over his shoulder.

I nod.

The room seems bigger for some reason, though it never changed. The walls are a smokey grey, except for one accent that’s black, which holds our flat screen TV on it, surrounded by bookshelves. It feels strange to look at the immense amount of books, knowing I’ve read them all at least once.

On the floor is a large quilt, bearing my baby brother Aaron. Beside him is Oscar, sleeping with all four legs stretched out.

“Where’s Austin?” I ask.

“Oh, you know teen boys, he’s with Angela. He said they’re walking to school.” Angela is Austin’s girlfriend of 4 years, they’re so cute.Next year, they plan on going to college together.

“Oh.” I say, nodding.

I set my backpack on the floor, sitting beside Aaron, crossing my legs. Oscar immediately crawls into my lap. I pet him and he purrs. Aaron’s laughing and I soon realise Oscar’s tail is touching his face, while he plays with it.

I pick up Oscar before Aaron gets scratched, knowing how much Oscar hates his tail being handled.

I play blocks with Aaron for a while, but before I know it, it’s time to go.

With one last pet for Oscar, I rumple Aaron’s hair, then run upstairs to grab my phone. I follow my dad out to the car. Though the drive to school is only 15 minutes, we spend the entire time singing old country music as loud as we can. I think I can sing very well when I try, but right now I don’t care.

Soon enough, we pull into the parking lot of EDAN, focused on Education, Dedication, And Nothing else. It stands for something else, but the students don’t know, or really just don’t care. I hop out of the car, blowing my dad a kiss.

I can’t believe this is it, I think to myself as I reach the front doors.

I take a deep breath and push them open. It’s chaos.

Teenagers fill the halls, shoulder to shoulder, trying to get to their homerooms. The school is so huge, it takes 10 minutes to get from one end to the other. That is if you don't get lost…

I do.

I try to ask some older kids for help, but get pushed aside. I wander around for what feels like eternity, when I find a teacher who points me in the right direction. 

Surprisingly, I reach my next class with 5 minutes to spare.

My homeroom is art, which I’m actually good at, and the work is fun but difficult, though I seem to get everything right.

I step into the classroom and notice that there’s no other students. A small old woman with wrinkled cheeks walks towards me.

“Hello, come, come sit. You’re first so you get to pick a seat. The others will arrive late, most likely, so they’ll be assigned.” Her voice is so sweet and kind,it reminds me of caramel.

I smile, and she adds, “What’s your name, young lady?”

‘I’m Abigale, nice to meet you.” I do a curtsy, not sure why I like doing them, but I do. She gives a soft chuckle and curtsies back.

“Mrs. Smith, nice to meet you too.” She smiles again, then makes her way over to her desk. I take this moment to pick my seat. I choose a seat in the front near her desk, since I like this teacher. I love how happy and nice she is.

Another student walks in. A girl with wavy brown hair, pulled back into a messy but nice bun and…

I blink to make sure this is real. I’ve never seen such a thing in real life. I blink again, still there.

She has two different colored eyes, the left(my left) is brown, and the right is green. It’s magnificent.

She notices me staring and I look away instantly, face burning. I try to push the feeling away. She talks to the teacher for a bit, basically the same things she said to me. She also gets complimented about her eyes. Good, I’m not seeing things.

By listening I learn that her name is Leona. That's a pretty name. Not that I noticed!

The teacher goes back and sits at her desk, while to my surprise, Leona sits beside me.

I lift my head and make eye contact with her. She grins.

“Hi,” she says with a little wave.

“H-hi,” I manage. She smiles again. I realize I’m staring at her eyes, and look away.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m used to people staring.”

“Sorry.” I look down.

“Don’t be.”

She opens her mouth to say something more, but the bell rings.

Just like Mrs. Smith said, everyone else comes in late.


End file.
